


Aftermath

by Hephalex



Series: Not a French Mistake [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hephalex/pseuds/Hephalex
Summary: After learning their night together wasn't the result of chemicals or meta influence, Jason drops off the radar and Dick returns to Bludhaven. It takes a call from Barbara Gordon to knock some heads together...





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all those who read and enjoyed the previous instalments, and especially those who were kind enough to bookmark, leave kudos, and comments. I'm sorry this has been so long coming - Christmas, New Year, and the flu got in the way. I hope you all enjoy.

Nearly midnight. Full moon riding through tumults of cloud, flashing silver to black in the streets of Gotham City’s East End. Nightwing stood on the roof of the Skirley Apartment block. Twenty-six floors below him was the inky trench of Crime Alley. His life had started there. He hadn’t known it at the time, because it had happened twenty years before he was born. A twist of Fate one night, Doom pronounced that would set an eight-year old boy on an unattainable quest for vengeance. One that would, years later, suck in a coterie of similarly wounded men and women, all obsessed with righting the wrongs the world had done them. Nightwing’s story had begun in that alley, as surely as Batman’s had. 

Red Hood’s too, he thought faintly, as he checked through the protocols on his suit. The random thought was unwanted, brought a painful twist of memory, a recollection of two days before. To a night of pleasure, followed by a truth that had left Dick Grayson walking wounded. 

He hadn’t heard from Jason in that time. None of them had. Even Bruce’s calls – and Jesus fucking Christ, hadn’t Bruce’s interrogation been the most acutely humiliating experience Dick had ever been through – had gone unanswered. Jason was off the radar. Dick had even checked in with Artemis and Bizarro – people he’d gotten to know a few weeks earlier on a circus mission with Jason, who hadn’t minded talking to Dick in the way that Kori and Roy had minded talking to Dick - but they hadn’t seen Jason either. He had gone to ground, off grid. Everyone was worried, but the message was clear: leave me alone. Except for end of the world scenarios, you didn’t ignore that message from Jason Todd. And, since so far nothing had started exploding, and there had been no bazookas fired at penthouses, or bags-full of decapitated gang lieutenants, everyone had chalked it up to ‘well it could be worse’, and assumed Jason would be back in touch as soon as he had gotten over his…whatever.

Dick scowled beneath his domino, stabbed off the final protocol and reset the heads-up to tactical mode. Whatever? Who the fuck was he kidding? Whatever was a night of sex with his little foster brother. The hottest, wildest sex he had had; assumed to be the fallout of a drug that messed with male sexuality and gave them an insatiable hunger for sex, only to be revealed as nothing of the sort. Oh, there was a drug, but all it did was prime victims for a telepathic shove; make them easier to push into the kind of behaviour their social mores, or fucked up compartmentalization, or dysfunction, would have them denying. Jason and Dick hadn’t been victims of either primer drug, or meta influence. They’d spent a night fucking because they were genuinely hot for each other. Dick had been surprised at first, dismayed, but given time to process was beginning to come to some realizations about himself. He doubted Jason was in the same place. 

Stepping up to the precipice, he did a last check on the grapple line behind him, then went up on his toes, arms spread, and flipped off the roof. Muscle memory took his mind off Jason; locked him into the technicals of the fall, mentally counting off the feet even as his HUD did the same, and flicked an alert when he’d reached target. He barely registered it, let experience guide him to trigger the lock on the grapple wire, turn it taut. He brought his feet together, swinging in towards the gruesome skyscraper. Glass shattered. A spray of grimy fragments twinkling in neon glare. He came off the line - back-flip more prefect and graceful than a Gold Medal floor routine - and landed in a crouch, feet together, escrima sticks in hand. 

He had expected a shocked pause, then a tumult of cries and gunfire when the members of the Wound Raven Gang reacted to his entrance. What he got was a groan, and a pained, “Oh fuck, you have got to be kidding me.”

There was a faint smell of cordite in the air, that should have been familiar, but from which he was distracted by the flicker of his HUD processing the scene, analysing the half dozen bodies writhing in the bullet-chewed ruin of the methlab. 

He straightened, wary at first. Did a little twirl with his escrima, like a non-verbal throat clearing. 

“Jesus, how many of you assholes are there?” The guy who was shouting at him lay in the collapsed debris of a trestle table, amidst a broken chemistry set and still steaming plant fluids. Nightwing’s HUD was tracing an alert reticule around the bullet wounds in the guy’s lower right leg. He approached cautiously, fell into a crouch close by, a movement that had the Wound Raven trying to haul himself away.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Who did this?”

“Like you don’t know!”

The escrima sparked, sent a lick of electricity between the electrodes. Drama to focus the gangster’s mind. 

“The fucking Red Hood! Okay! He blew in here, shot everything to shit. Not five minutes ago”

Five minutes? Nightwing was up, muscles tensing. “Where? Which way did he go?”

“He went looking for Ganymede. That way.” 

Nightwing took off across the gutted floor. Parkouring over ruined furniture and through blasted dry wall, he passed another dozen bodies in the same partially maimed condition as the guys in the first room, and came at last to what might have once been an elevator lobby, but now was some kind of ops center for the production of “Gay Bomb”. 

There were two bodies there, hanging from the gulping darkness of the eviscerated building above, one still turning, like he’d just been hung up. The augmented vision through Nightwing’s domino put an overlay and a ream of text over the tranquilizer dart in the neck of the guy on the right. No pointing talking to him, Nightwing thought. He recognized the tranqulizier as a propriety development of Wayne Enterprises. 

He approached the second guy, spared a look for the grapple line that was fastened around a leg, had him hung from somewhere sixty feet above. 

“He’s Ganymede?” he jerked his head at the tranqed guy. 

“Get me the fuck down!” twisting-on-a-line guy screamed. “Get me down!”

Nightwing slapped him, hard enough to feel it, right across the face. “Stop yelling. Answer my questions, and I might consider it,” he nodded again to indicate the comatose body turning idly on its line. “That’s Ganymede?”

The guy swallowed his anger, nodded. 

“The meta? The telepath.”

“Yes.”

“You guys were producing Gay Bomb. Using that to…” even now he didn’t like to say what.

“We just wanted the world to face the truth! You know how many dudes are gay? How many are bi? But hide it. Pretend like they’re not. You know what that does to normalization. To representation? You know how damaging that is?”

Nightwing pushed out a breath, “That’s so fucked up, I don’t even know where to begin with it,” he shook his head. “Who supplied the drug?”

“I did!” the guy snarled. “He’s not the only meta.”

“Right. And you are..?”

“I’m Krokus. Named for the lover of-”

“Hermes. I know,” Nightwing canted his head. “I’ve done a lot of reading the last few days.” He sighed, “So, you made the sentient penis-plants down in Louisiana.”

“I can manipulate plant life at the molecular level. That was how I was able to produce Gay Bomb.” 

“So, you’re like a mini Poison Ivy, then? Poison Ian.”

“Fuck you, Nightwing.”

“You’re not my type, _Cockus_. You’d need to be three inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier,” he jerked his head to indicate the ruin in the room, the condition of Ganymede. “Who did this?”

Before he could reply, Krokus spotted something over Nightwing’s shoulder. His eyes went wide with indignation, then fear. He jerked, twisting ridiculously on his snare, pointing. “Him! He’s the one.”

Nightwing flicked round on the spot, ducking at the same time he reactivated his escrima sticks. It was reflex as much as anything else. Red Hood stood twenty feet away, pistols still in hand, red-helmet on, biker jacket over his carbon nanofiber armor. They stared at each other for a beat, white-lit lenses of Nightwing’s domino looking back at the white-lit eye-pieces of the red helmet. Then Hood moved, a brief gesture with his gun hand. Somewhere below there was a boom. A fierce vibration and a rush of air followed up the hollowed-out innards of the tower, scattered the debris at Nightwing’s feet. 

“The drug?”

“Twelve vats of it. Burning nicely. I do love me some C4,” Hood answered. “It’s four floors below, so probably you’ve got time to get these assholes out before the place burns down.”

“Hood-” Nightwing ground out.

“Cool it, Goldie. The building’s empty. And it’s owned by Penguin. There are no victims here, ‘scept the insurance company.”

“And the people you shot.”

Red Hood shrugged. He took a few paces forward, peered up the vacant space of the elevator shaft. “At least they’re not dead.” He made to lift his grapple gun. 

Nightwing took a few paces towards him. “Hood, we need to talk.”

The helmet tilted, eye pieces levelling at Dick. There was a fractional headshake. “We really don’t.” The grapple fired. “See you around, Nightwing.”

And with that Jason was gone, tugged off the floor and into the darkness. Nightwing watched him go, and cursed under his breath.

“Red head?” 

“Excuse me?” Nightwing blinked, looked back at Krokus. “No, Red Hood. Pay attention, _Cockus_.”

“No. I mean is he a red head?” the guy gestured at the still comatose Ganymede. “Like him. They’re always the most temperamental boyfriends.”

* * *

 

A week later, Nightwing was sat on the roof of Kings Casino, on the Bludhaven waterfront. It was raining, the downpour forming curtains between the stunted skyscrapers and mid-rises, and across the river. Worse, it was soaking what remained of Nightwing’s dinner: a Belly Burger quarter-pounder and fries, with chocolate milkshake. Dick hadn’t even managed to find a sigh for the indignity. It was his own fault, after all. He should have gone back to his apartment. Nothing was happening in the ‘Haven’ tonight. It had been quiet, ever since Nightwing had thwarted the Judge’s nefarious plans for the town. Three days, and the worst he’d had to deal with was a kidnap, and GTA. It was barely even entertaining. 

He couldn’t bring himself to go home, though. Dick Grayson got bored easily, especially at 10:30pm, and with an apartment that was a cable-less, internet-less, mostly unpacked series of floorspaces in which the only pastime was brooding on Jason Todd. He wanted something to take his mind off what might be with Jason, not spend three hours lying on a couch, looking at a water-stained ceiling for answers. 

The blip of comms in his ear piece took his attention off his ruined dinner, and his troubles with the Red Hood. 

“Y’ello.”

_‘Dick? Barbara.’_

That perked him up. He grinned, despite the rain. “Babs? Long-time no hear. How are you doing?”

_‘Good. Good. You?’_

“Oh, you know. Can’t complain.”

_‘So, you’re not sitting on the roof of the Kings Casino, with a soggy Belly Burger Meal, trying to find something to do?’_

Dick shrugged, “A brave man likes the feel of nature on his face, Babs.”

_‘A wise man has enough sense to get in out of the rain. And you need a better reason to be quoting Kurt Russel movies at me. I know about Jason.’_

Dick deflated, pushed out a weary breath, “How did you find out?”

_‘You told Roy. Who told Donna. Who told me.’_

“Big-mouth Harper.”

_‘They’re just worried about you. So am I. I’m worried about both of you.’_

Dick’s ears pricked to that, “You’ve seen Jason?”

_‘Briefly.’_

“How is he?”

_‘Putting on a face. Miserable. Confused. Spiralling. You know Jason.’_

“Shit,” Dick dropped his head into a hand. “Well, but I don’t know what to do, Babs. He won’t talk to me.”

_‘Do you know what you would say to him if he did?’_

“Not really.”

_‘Well, that conversation would go a long way, wouldn’t it? How do you feel about it, Dick? Sleeping with him?’_

Nightwing shifted uncomfortably on his perch. The rain droned around him. “We’re gonna talk about this now?”

_‘Why not?’_

“You want to talk about me and Jason Todd sleeping together?”

_‘I know you slept with Roy-’_

“Jesus Christ, does he have no filter?”

_‘Oh, Richard, sweetie, everyone knows you and Roy did it.’_

“All we ever did was handjobs and-”

_‘God, I don’t want the details. Point is, the fluidity of your sexuality is a surprise to no one. Except perhaps Jason.’_

“What about the fluidity of his sexuality?”

_‘Jason’s? Maybe, at first. Where he grew up-’_

“No worse than where I grew up. You think you can be bi in the circus, Babs?”

 _‘It’s not a competition, Dick. You had all that time with the Titans. With Roy-’_

“I didn’t realize I was really into guys until Jason and I slept together. That thing with Roy was just… experimenting or whatever…”

There was a beat, like Barbara was gaping in astonishment. Then, _‘Well, good god Richard, that’s a special kind of in-denial. Surely Discowing and mutual masturbation with Roy Harper would have been pretty big clues.’_

“Discowing wasn’t gay!”

_‘Sweetie, he was gayer than Elton in a feather boa.’_

Dick scowled, “Is this going somewhere?”

_‘What do you feel about Jason?’_

“I don’t know.”

_‘Oh come on. You’ve had more than a week to think this over. And you’ve been in enough relationships in the past to know what’s a mark on the headboard, and what’s something deeper. You must be wondering enough to have ended things with Huntress.’_

Nightwing gasped, “How did you know…?”

_‘I know everything, Dick. They called me Oracle for a reason. Also, Katie bumped into her in Gotham and they commiserated over ice cream. I wouldn’t go near Huntress for a while, if I were you.’_

Dick sighed. 

_‘Come on Grayson. You’re a smart boy, despite what people say. Jason Todd.’_

Another sigh, “Honestly Babs?” he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

_‘I’ll try not to take that personally. What else?’_

“I don’t know…”

_‘Right now, are you attracted to him? If he dropped onto the rooftop in front of you and took off his pants-‘_

“I get it,” Nightwing said hurriedly. “Yes. Okay. Yes. I want to sleep with him again.”

_‘Is it just sex?’_ There was a beat, a hesitation while Dick considered the question. It ended quickly, with an impatient huff from Barbara. _‘Come on. Don’t think about it. Yes or no. Is it just sex?’_

“No.” Shit. 

_‘So, you want something more.’_

“I guess…”

_‘You guess?’_

“I’m curious to see what’s there. Where it might go.”

_‘You can see yourself dating him?’_

Dick leaned back, hands on his knees. The rain fell against his face, running down his neck, over his scalp. It did nothing to cool the sudden heat under his skin. 

“Who can date Jason Todd?”

_‘If anybody can, it’s you.’_

“I don’t get why I’m suddenly into him.”

_‘Oh come on, you’ve been flirting with each other for years.’_

That stunned him into silence. Then, “What? No we haven’t. That’s just… well… that’s absurd is what that is…”

_‘Please. All your bickering. All your fights. His hero worship hidden behind the snark. Your preening every time he’s looking over. The only person who hasn’t noticed is Damian, and that’s because he’s thirteen,’_ a pause, then under her breath, _‘and infatuated with you as well. But that’s a different story.’_

Dick’s mouth worked, like a banked guppy, trying to find a denial. 

_‘Look, I’m always right, right?’_

Dick canted his head, “Often. Not always…”

_‘I’m right about this. He worships you, Richard. He didn’t always. That kid who first took the tires off the Batmobile saw you as competition. But that changed. Somewhere between putting on the Red Hood, fighting for the cowl, détente, something changed. I never said anything before because… well, it was none of my business really. I’m only saying something now because you’re both miserable, and as annoying as you both are, I can’t stand to see either of you hurting. He’s got it bad for you, and I think you have it bad for him. So, for god’s sake, do something about it.’_

“He won’t talk to me-”

_‘Don’t be ridiculous.’_

“What?” indignant. 

_‘Since when has that stopped you? You’re the only one of us that comes even remotely close to filling Bruce’s cape, and you’re telling me you can’t track down Red Hood, and corner him for a chat? Come on, Richard. Stop being chickenshit. Go talk to him.’_

“How would this possibly work, Babs? He’s not like you. Or even Roy. How can you date Jason Todd?”

_‘You already asked me that. My answer is, one, since that’s the question you’re asking, you’ve already decided that’s something you want to do; and two, figure it out. He’s dangerous. He’s unpredictable. He absolutely is not to be taken for granted. But under it all, there is still a good man, looking for the same things in life we all are.’_

“Crowbar revenge and kicks with C4?”

_‘Don’t be a dick, Dick. I’m talking about love. Companionship. Go talk to him. That’s an order.’_

She disconnected the comms before he could get in a retort, leaving him to the silence of the rain, and the empty, gaudy lights of the casino. He squeezed the saturated remains of his meal in his hands, tossed them over his shoulder for the birds. 

“Go see Jason Todd,” he said to himself. “I’d better pack the Kevlar.”

***

He didn’t pack the Kevlar. He went as Dick Grayson, not Nightwing, in jeans and a T-shirt. He went that night, on his bike, thirty-three minutes through the puddles the storm had left, to the GCHQ building. Babs had sent through the details; turned out tracking down Jason Todd was no hardship, the Batfamily already knew where he was, and he’d made no effort to hide it. It plucked a guilty nerve in Dick, made him realize he had been chickening out, like Babs said. 

He went in through the vent system, because he wasn’t sure a) where the main entrance to Jason’s hideout was; and b) that Jason would answer if he knocked. It was kind of audacious, and so typically Jason, he thought while he was navigating the ducts, to choose to put his hideout under police HQ. He found his way in via a vent in a small brick chamber that was doubling as an entrance lobby. Through the door, there was a large, open-plan space that housed an impressive looking copy of the Batcomputer, and a scatter of second-hand, dumpster-dived furniture, including a particularly saggy looking couch. 

Jason was in the room, standing in the doorway of a fancy weapons cabinet. He had taken off his jacket, his helmet, was in the process of unholstering his guns into the racks in front of him. Dick didn’t say anything at first, approached from behind. Which, in hindsight was a mistake. He wasn’t consciously trying to Nightwing his way across the room – silent-tread was just his default. Probably though, he should have said something. He’d nearly reached Jason when Jason moved. Fast as Batman, fast like he was when he first came back to Gotham and he’d shown the Dark Knight what a man trained by Bruce Wayne, the League of Shadows, and the All Caste could do. Dick found himself looking down the barrel of one of Jason’s pistols. It took all of the training he’d received from Bruce not to let muscle memory take the damn thing out of Jason’s hand and hit him in the head with it. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

Jason’s expression was unreadable. He tilted his head, like a shrug. “Shouldn’t sneak up on people, Dick. Quickest way to getting your head blown off.”

Dick cocked an eyebrow. “I wasn’t sneaking. And you knew it was me the moment I came out of the vent back there,” he jerked his head to indicate behind him. 

“Maybe I’m just proving a point.”

“What point?”

Jason didn’t know. He let his arm fall, gun with it. “Or maybe I really was considering putting a bullet in your head.” It was empty, Jason out of comebacks and defaulting to jerk. 

“This is how it’s going to be?”

Jason tilted his head, turned away, back to his cabinet, “Were you expecting a kiss? What do you want?”

“You know what. We need to talk.”

“I’m not all caught up on book-club yet, Dickie. Maybe next week.”

Dick caught his shoulder, pulled him round, “Stop it. Stop with the smart-mouthing.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Grayson.” Hard edge that time, serious.

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to pretend the other night didn’t happen?”

“Oh, fuck, Dickie. This your personal soap opera? Sure, we slept together. Is that what you want to hear? It was kinda surprising, but it was just sex.”

Dick gave him a look, half annoyed, half disappointed. “Well, at least you’re not hiding behind the sex-drug excuse.”

Jason’s hands settled on his hip, still looking into his weapon’s locker, like he was distracted by some important task there. “Nah, I ran Alfie’s data myself. Tested the same samples from the plant. Ran the bloodwork. He was right. We weren’t drugged,” he turned, looked back at Dick. “Just horny,” and gave a shit-eating grin that was as fake as his affected calm. “You’ve got a nice ass, I’ll give you that.”

“Gay crisis over, then?”

“Read up on the Kinsey Scale when I was still in Middle School. I’m down with being somewhere else on the spectrum than zero. Figured I missed out on my experimentation phase. I’m a late starter.”

“That’s what we were? Experimentation?”

There was the hint of something beneath Jason’’s look, something uncertain, regretful. He hid it with a shrug, “Sure. Why not. We were all amped up on the adrenalin. Add wet naked bodies – and especially an ass as fine as yours and…well -equals horny.” He closed the locker, made to walk past Dick. “Just sex. No need to make a big deal out of it.”

Dick caught him again, pulled him round, said, “Bullshit,” into his face. “Bullshit. It was more than that. There was something there. Something between us. I know you felt it too.”

Jason hid his swallow, his nerves. Painted on a mocking smile, “Jesus, Dickie. Are you sure you’re not a girl? Something between us? You been watching too many chick-flicks.”

“We did five times that night. You let me fuck you twice.”

Jason’s mouth twisted, dismissive, “Like I said. We were horny. The sex wasn’t bad. I admit I didn’t realize I’d like taking it up the ass as much as I did, but,” he shrugged, “life’s a voyage of discovery.”

Dick huffed a breath in frustration. He tried a different tack, “What if I told you it meant more to me than that?”

“I’d say, that’s real flattering. But dating you would be kinda weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yes. Weird. Dating your big brother is kinda weird, don’t you think? Almost as weird as fucking him was.”

Dick’s eyes went sharp at that, patience dissolving, irritation coming out. His edges went dangerous. Not Richard Grayson. Nightwing. It put a shiver in Jason’s armor. Suddenly, he looked less sure of himself. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Jason’s chin jutted, defiance in place of a good argument, “We’re brothers, Dick. If you hadn’t noticed. Brother’s sleeping together, is weird. Foster brothers, okay, but still-”

“You’re so full of shit,” Dick said. Not angry now, scornful. More than that, in control. Age and experience, and self-esteem all more, better, than Jason’s. “You know it’s funny, it didn’t seem like you thought it was weird at the time.” He let that hang there for a beat, rammed home with a look. “I mean, it didn’t seem like you thought it was weird when I was on my knees in the showers sucking the come out of you,” Jason’s eyes widened a little at the boldness of it, at its coarseness, “I don’t remember it seeming weird when you pulled me up onto your face and let me give you a facial, while you were sticking your finger up my ass.” He took a step towards Jason. Jason retreated a pace. “I don’t remember it seeming weird when I was riding your cock an hour later. Or when you were on your knees moaning like a $5 whore while I was fucking you in the ass.” Another pace taken, another one yielded. “I don’t remember it seeming weird when you were lying on your back with your legs around my waist, with my dick in your ass. Or when we sixty-nined the morning after. No, it wasn’t weird any of those times.”

“It was just the moment-” Jason said around a swallow.

“The moment? Give me a break. It wasn’t the moment. It wasn’t fucking sex-drugs either. It was you and me. That’s what it was. You and me, fucking each other like nothing else.” He was right up in Jason’s space now, static between them building to a thunderhead. 

“Brothers…” Jason said faintly. 

“Does this feel like we’re brothers, Jason?” Dick caught the back of his head, tugged him forward. Jason was ready for it, of course he was, had known where this was going from the moment Dick appeared in his safe house. He let Dick kiss him, opened for him when Dick pressed his tongue against the seam of his lips. Closed his eyes, breathed a gust of air through his nose, like a sigh, like relief. 

For a moment it was perfect. Fierce, and carnal, all the things that had been driving Dick’s jerk off fantasies for the last week. But then he felt Jason’s fragile ego shiver. Felt the moment some convoluted process in his brain told him he couldn’t let it go like this. That he couldn’t let Dick win. That this, if it was going down, had to be on his terms. 

Dick was ready for it. Let go the moment he felt Jason’s hands close on his shoulders and shove back. The expression Jason was wearing was all his favorite clichés: surly tough man, hard-as-nails New Jersey trailer trash, Gotham kid with a bad attitude, just looking for his biker-jacket comforter. His eyes were a different story. There, for a moment, was a gulp waiting to happen, a stark terror, a desperate need.

“Show me your dick.”

It was absurd. The stupidest most cliched thing he could have said. An effort to invalidate what was happening by making it as seedy as possible, a hookup, like he’d just picked Dick up at the Handlebar in Otisberg. Dick went with it though, didn’t react, didn’t bat it back with a snort and an eyeroll. Instead he went sideways, turned, back-pacing towards that sagging couch, sex in the motion despite its convolution. He thumbed his jeans open as he went. 

Jason took the bait, couldn’t lose face now by hesitating. He caught up with Dick, kissed him, fighting for dominance. Dick gave back as good as he got, caught Jason’s hand where it was on the back of his neck, and drew it down his body, forced him to feel the contours of muscles beneath his t-shirt, then down, into his open jeans. A breath came out of Jason then, a huff of surprise or satisfaction or relief. Dick was hard. His cock solid and hot in the snug film of his boxer-briefs. He pushed Jason’s hand against it, closed his fingers around its length, and at the same time dropped his mouth to that spot on Jason’s neck he knew had a hotline to his cock. He couldn’t help his satisfied smile when Jason moaned.

“Come on stud,” Dick said against Jason’s ear. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Jason’s head jerked back, found Dick’s gaze, eyes searching, maybe surprised, maybe afraid. Then the feeling in them hardened. He shoved, sent Dick crashing down onto the couch. He dropped to his knees after him, caught the V of Dicks jeans and pulled them apart, pulled the material down, under Dick’s ass. His hand found cock again, squeezing through Dick’s underwear, finding the shape of it, its length, its girth, gaze unblinking on it, look in his face all hunger.

It was gasoline on Dick’s lust, that look. He felt it surge up inside him, filling his cock, making it harder, bigger. Pushed him up, where he could grab Jason’s shoulders and pull him into another kiss, and while their tongues were fucking in Jason’s mouth, he took Jason’s hand again, and pushed it past the waistband. It was Dick’s turn to moan then, relief for the sensation of Jason’s fingers closing around the thick length of his shaft, palm moving to rub against the head, already wet enough to have left a patch on his underwear. 

“Come on,” Dick said, urgent through his breaths. “Take it out. You wanted to look at it.”

Their gaze connected again, but only for a moment. Jason straightened. Together they pushed Dick’s jeans and underwear down, until Jason tugged them over Dick’s feet, dropped them on the floor. Dick peeled off his t-shirt, while Jason’s hands slid up his thighs. His eyes scraped over the reveal, over every muscle of the carved-marble torso, over steel biceps and roped forearms, over the sharp rise and fall of a six pack, before coming to rest on Dick’s groin. His cock stood up hard and straight from its neatly trimmed frame of black hair. Similar size to Jason’s. Flawless, save for the circumcision. 

Dick watched him. Not with anxiety. He was cockier than that, could see the hunger in Jason’s face. Not a look of reluctance, not a man having a gay crisis, hesitant about putting another man’s cock in his mouth. The expression on Jason’s face was dark, brooding with defeat, but lust underneath it. Want.

“Come on,” Dick said, putting his hands behind his head, sending a ripple through his muscles. “You know you want to.”

Jason flicked him a fuck-you look, but he took Dick’s dick in hand anyway, stroked it to the top, ran a thumb under the head. It drew an electric feeling in a trail, chasing Jason’s touch, intense enough for Dick to let out a breath. The sound drew Jason’s gaze again, checking, and Dick answered by sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Feels real good, Jay.”

That was encouragement enough. Jason leaned in, pressed a kiss to the tip, licked off the precum, liberated another breath from Dick, before going down on eight thick inches. 

It wiped the smug look off Dick’s face, exposed the bliss beneath. His head fell back, eyes closing, an aborted groan finally finding it ways past his lips, “oh…Jason…”

Jason didn’t hold back. The blowjob was messy. Turned frantic quick, head bobbing like a machine, leaving a film of drool down the solid column of Dick’s cock. 

“That’s it, that’s it…suck me…fuck…” Dick’s hand came from behind his head, settled on Jason’s, fingers tangling in his hair. “I knew you wanted this… fuck… all that bullshit about it being weird…fucking brothers…I knew you wanted this as much as I do. Fucking suck me, Jason. God, you’re so hot-”

Jason pulled off with a slurp, hollowing his cheeks, lips like a vacuum seal around the head of Dick’s penis, pulling a deeper groan from him.

“I hate you,” he said, “I fucking hate you.” But it was empty, heatless. The lust in his face made it a lie, and Dick knew it.

“No you don’t. You don’t fucking hate me. You love me.”

Jason kissed his tip again, drove his tongue under the head, around the crown.

“Say it. Say you fucking want me.”

“I want you,” Jason said, angry and desperate.

“Say you fucking love me.”

“I fucking love you.”

Dick tugged him back down, pressed the head of his cock against Jason’s lips, pushed through into his mouth, undulated his hips so he reached the back of Jason’s throat, made him gag.

“Fuck me,” he said. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jason pulled off with another vacuum like slurp, didn’t take his hand off. 

“I haven’t got lube.”

Dick’s eyes goggled. “You never jerk off?”

“Uncut, dickhead. Don’t need that shit.”

It hadn’t occurred to Dick. He shrugged, twisted where he sprawled, acrobatics that allowed him to reach his jeans on the floor without breaking Jason’s grip on his cock. When he straightened though, tiny tube of Astroglide in hand, he found a different expression on Jason’s face. The look of surly defeat had gone, turned sly. 

“What?”

A grin split across the calculating look. Jason’s hands latched onto the tops of Dick’s thighs, strength and speed behind a push that lifted Dick’s whole pelvis, tipped his knees towards his chest.

“Oh shit-” was all Dick got out before Jason’s mouth fastened on his asshole.

The sensation went from gross, to weird to incredible like a Ferrari accelerating to a hundred. Jason sucked with his mouth, while pushing with his tongue, and the sensation was like a blowjob for his asshole, only about a thousand times better. Dick couldn’t help the shocked way his hands went to the back of his own head – “oh shit” - then down to Jason’s, pushing, forcing Jason’s face into his ass. His brain scrabbled to find a fingertip grip on the sensation, to make sense of the nerve endings that connected from his ass to the head of his cock, and the pathway it took through his gut. 

“Jason…” became a stretched moan, eyes falling closed, head lolling back. Breathless. The tables were turned. Dick’s cockiness vanquished to mewls by a tongue up his ass. No one had done that. Not ever. Not Babs. Not Kori. He cursed all the missed opportunities he’d had to experience what he was experiencing now. 

“Oh Jay… you’re just…the fucking best.”

It was just talk. Probably wasn’t true. Maybe it was. But Dick was swept away by his lust, by the intensity of what he was feeling, and in that moment he would have sworn on penalty of a beatdown from Batman, that this was the best he’d ever had.

It only got better when Jason’s hand found his cock, started rubbing a thumb under the head at the same time he sucked on Dick’s asshole. The tingling in his dick surged, crested, and he had to push Jason’s hand off him, his face away from his ass. 

“You keep that up, I’m gonna blow before you get in me.”

Jason’s reply was the tube of lube dropped on Dick’s heaving stomach. 

“Finish yourself,” he said, voice cigarette rough from smoking Dick’s ass. He straightened, back uncurling, hands dropping to his fly. He was still dressed – Red Hood’s body armor, his armored knee-boots and carbon-weave pants, whatever he was wearing underneath to protect his junk. A faint thought occurred to Dick that if Jason was as hard as he was, things had to be pretty uncomfortable down there. 

Dick snapped the top of the lube, squeezed, went to work stretching out his hole while Jason unbuckled, unzipped, tugged out his cup. A sliver of flat tummy grew to a triangle, a thick line of black hair running down the middle, finally revealed a trimmed bush when Jason’s cast aside the cup, and beneath, just the thick root of a very hard cock. It was almost more than Dick could do to control the urge to take his fingers out of his ass, tug Jason close by the flaps of his pants, and pull him out. Dick wanted to see it. Wanted to touch it. The lust for Jason’s cock was ridiculous, overwhelming, like he was on some concentrated shot of a sex-drug.

Jason didn’t keep him waiting. He reached inside his pants, took himself in hand. His cock sprung free. Nearly nine inches, milky foreskin gliding back, exposing the rosy mushroom beneath. His balls, dusted with curling black hairs, were full beneath. Dick wanted him, god he wanted him.

He handed back the lube, kept working his asshole while Jason drizzled a line down his wretchedly hard shaft. Then he was leaning in again, taking Dick’s thighs in his arms, yanking him hard down the couch so that their pelvises were aligned. Jason wasn’t quite done teasing though. With his right hand he pushed the head of his cock against Dick’s hole, let it catch and then spring free, skid on the lube past Dick’s balls, up onto his cock, before pulling it back again. 

Dick wasn’t having any of that nonsense. He reached down, took Jason in hand. Savored the feeling. The heat. The hardness. Its size. Jerked it to enjoy the lewd image of his foreskin sliding back and forth over the swollen glans. Then he lined them up, used his thighs to catch Jason’s hips, feet against his ass, and pulled. 

Dick’s ass yielded smoothly to all that rigid heat, and Jason slid in a single thrust that had both of them moaning, eyes rolling. Dick was astonished again at how good it felt, and couldn’t keep that expression off his face. They synched up quickly, hips finding a rhythm, fucking there on that saggy, ridiculous couch, springs squeaking where Dick was sprawled on the cushions, and Jason was kneeling. Words fell away to the cliched staccato of ahs, to the beat of skin slapping against skin, interrupted only once by a fierce, “oh god, yes” when Dick thrust his hips in a circle, rubbed that cock inside him against all the right places. At some point eyes connected, and the feeling that crashed between them had Jason lunging down, searching for Dick’s mouth. Dick wrapped him up, arms and legs around him, pulled him in close, tight, hips never resting.

“Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.” It didn’t matter who said it. “I love you. I love you.” 

Jason came first. A wounded cry in his throat as his muscles set rigid, and his hips strained forward, and Dick felt the scalding wet of him in his ass. Dick followed moments after, cock trapped between them, against Jason’s body armor, spurting all over the Kevlar triweave, all over the scarlet bat. 

The intensity bled away then, left a low burning fire in their embrace. Dick could feel the sweat as his finger’s explored Jason’s hairline, could feel it between his own shoulder blades. They stayed like that for long, sticky moments of time, until finally Dick pressed a kiss to the rough-scratch of Jason’s jaw. 

“You okay?” Dick asked at last.

There was a long pause. “Yes.” Then, “No. I don’t know.”

Dick smiled, stroked a hand through his hair. 

“Look, I don’t care what other people think,” he said against Jason’s ear, voice soft, low but insistent. “I don’t care about what happened in the past. Either between us or the other people we’ve been with. None of that matters to now. Bludhaven is twenty miles downriver from Gotham. It’s nothing. Other vigilantes make relationships work, there’s no reason why we can’t. We just take each day as it comes, see where this goes. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. We will still always be family. But I want to see what might be here, Jason. Even if it’s just bickering and angry make-up sex. I want to see. And I think you do too.” 

Jason was silent for a moment, still breathing into Dick’s neck, cock still hard in Dick’s ass. When he finally spoke, it was without moving. “Dick move dickhead. Heart-to-hearting me while I’m all vulnerable and shit.”

Dick grinned, kissed him again. “It’s the only time you listen.”

Jason pushed out a breath, finally moved. He pushed himself up on his arms, looked down into Dick’s face. The look was sombre, eyes searching.

“What?” Dick asked after a moment, gentle. 

“I just…” Jason shook his head. “I guess I just don’t see why you would want this. With me. I mean, you never looked at me twice before the other day.”

“But things change. And anyway, I don’t think that’s true. You and me? We’ve been flirting for years.”

“Is that what you call trying to kill each other?”

“I’m talking about after you stopped being an attention seeking psychopath.”

Jason scowled, jerked his hips forward. It robbed a breath from Dick. “You’re in a vulnerable position, there, dickhead.”

Dick answered by pulling him down into a kiss. This one tender, full of feeling. When they broke, it was only the space of a breath. 

“We’ve been into each other for years, we just didn’t know it. Now we do. Makes sense to do something about it.”

“Could just do the friends with benefits thing.”

Dick met his gaze, reproachful. “You’re so full of shit, Jason Todd. You make out like you’re this Teflon coated badass, like nothing touches you. But under it you’re a fucking marshmallow-”

“Hey!”

“-you know it, and I know it. So don’t give me the FWB crap. That’s not what you want. It’s not what I want. Let’s be grown-ups. Let’s see where this thing goes.” Dick waited a moment, then smiled, used the loop of his legs to pull Jason into him again. “If nothing else, it’s going drive Bruce crazy. Damian too.”

Jason look has turned intense, something about the sensation Dick had just pulled out of him. He shook his head, “I don’t care about them. I care about you.” Those words came out like he was in the confessional. He flushed, embarrassed by them. But he didn’t chicken out. “I want this too. God, I must be fucking crazy. This’ll never work. I’m a pathological asshole and I’m going to drive you crazy, and you’re going to end up Nightwinging me into Blackgate or something. But Jesus fucking Chirst, I’d have to be fucking insane to pass up a chance to make it with Dick Grayson.”

Dick’s smile nearly faltered; took all the poker training Bruce had given him to keep his smile. The insecurity in Jason’s confession was profound, deep and dark as a well. He let his expression turn fond, reached up with a hand and cupped Jason’s face. 

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said. “You and me.”

Jason found a smile, a grin. It wiped years off him. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to Dick’s mouth and then hopped up. He tucked himself back in his pants, walked a few paces before turning and holding his hand out to Dick.

“Where are you going?”

“Figured I’d find a bed and get naked for round two. You know, if you’d be up for that. Now you’re my honey and shit.” And there was the cocky know-it-all Jason Todd back again, brooding dispelled by a shit eating grin and a swagger no one else could have pulled off. 

“Jesus,” Dick said, shaking his head. “We’re never going to leave your bedroom, are we?”

Jason waggled his eyebrows. “Here’s hoping.”


End file.
